Concept
by La-Abeja
Summary: As widower and rising star within the scientific community young Professor Membrane has his life set. Of course life, fame, your name known throughout the world... It can always go further, can it not? Perhaps even in the course of a single day. Oneshot.


The Concept 

Written by La-Abeja

Invader ZIM and characters copyright JCV, Viacom and Nick.

Note- Wow, I haven't updated with any fanfiction... at all lately. I suppose in some subconscious way this... long... piece may be able to make up for it? Doubtful- but, please enjoy!

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If there was one thing to be said about the rising star rookie- a recently college graduated 'Professor' Membrane- it was what wasn't said. His intellect was already well-known throughout the inner-workings of R.S. Laboratories. The sharpest scalpel on the medical table, as he was called.

Whether one believed it or not- the science career tracks, or truly the scientists themselves, were not above… gossip; although such a career! Good, pure- for the good of humanity!

Nevertheless, each scientist wanted to be that scientist- the one the world viewed hand in hand with the prestigious career. And to do that, co-workers were not viewed as partners. Never- instead, as enemies.

To best one's enemy one had to know one's enemy. Gossip spread like fire on the savannah.

For instance Professor Z had, for quite some time, been working on a highly secretive 'hush-hush' operation. Swarms of scientists had foamed at the mouth, as though rabid dogs, at the thought of such information.

Before the gossip could reach fact, however, Professor Z died. Perished. A heart attack had ended his prestigious life, and his funeral attendance level was far beyond the roof.

This would have been the end of it- had the documents not vanished shortly before his death. The controversy and uproar had erupted. Fists pounded against desks, fury, every scientist wanted his, or her, gloved hands upon the gold.

And still- the documents were never found. Even as time continued to plod away gossip could still be found on the lips of the Real Science scientists.

The mystery of Professor Z's documented operation. Not even the scientists under him had truly known the inner workings of these believed documents. Life support systems here, cloning there, normal scientist things. Nothing unusual.

If this gossip wasn't bad enough, whispered from lab to lab, the other branches of so called 'science' had also become aware of the missing documents. Again, fury and fascination- was the prestigious man's death really on the account of stress?

The gossip had still not died down, yet nothing could compare to the unbearable 'Para-Science' reaction.

Spoofs (so called 'reliable articles') of Professor Z being 'abducted' by 'aliens' had appeared in numerous, perhaps even in countless amounts of 'Para-loids'. Fodder for the insane dreamers. Nothing more. Or so the senior scientists answered raptly when confronted by the articles by more 'fired-up' junior scientists.

These younger scientists, young Membrane included, although bright- the brightest in fact, were still, simply, young. Their anger was much more easily sparked by their paranormal counterparts, which their elders had eventually sizzled out of.

Nevertheless, their elders would never fully put away their searching hawk eyes on the look out for the next young mind. After all- those minds would either aid or, said scientist would become the opposite. An enemy in the field.

Although the senior scientists had cooled out when it came to the mass of drooling 'Paranormalists', they too were not above gossip.

And, what conquered gossip was instead… fact.

These were scientists, they had their facts. Especially when it came to young Professor Membrane. Currently at age 26 Membrane has graduated early from both high school and college, and now found himself working comfortably in the field.

Nevertheless, at such a young age, he had encountered experiences only the senior scientists could relate with. A widower- he had suffered young, apparently as the gossip told he had met the young lady in college, she had also pursued a career in real science.

Oddly, or so called 'odd' by the more gossip loving, she had worked under Professor Z, until his death, when she and the others were moved.

Trivial, and pointless to point out now, after all…

The Professor was currently seeing a girl friend. Of course- gossip still surrounded this fact, how could it not? After all, was he not the 'sharpest scalpel on the medical table'? Still not much else was known about the fact- he arrived at the lab promptly in the morning, 5:30 sharp every day. Often times the young and dedicated individual didn't leave until 11- at night.

At times, did he even go home? Perhaps not, still, not that unusual. Especially when it became a habit. Now at 7 AM he was currently located at his desk in the main labs, back bent over scribbled blue-prints. Occasionally a pencil scratched against the coarse heavy paper, changing the course of the formula.

So dedicated- perhaps he would have continued along that path for the course of the day?

Perhaps, was it not for the watch which sharply interrupted.

Straightening his strained spine, the professor stretched before viewing the watch behind his thick laboratory goggles.

Damn.

The junior scientists were often paired with other senior members of the field. Even in his revered spotlight as the brightest of the young individuals, it was still common courtesy that he… show up.

However, as he clicked into the appointment, he was severely let down. Instead of plasma cannons and mutation experts he was instead being sent off with a special team of scientists.

The 'mental disorder' experts.

Lovely.

The Crazy House for Boys.

Peachy.

For a moment Membrane considered calling it off, after all, the plans he was currently working on were FAR more important…

Still, he was scheduled.

Those plans…

As Membrane released a rather loud crunch as he cracked his back it was decided. He had been bent over that very same table for the past week, working on those plans; he could use a day out.

Even if it was with the mentally ill.

There was no coat to fetch from the closet, as the professor was, of course, garbed in a white lab coat. Instead all that was needed was to call one of the many Laboratory cars, and- most important, to lock up.

Punching in the daily changing code outside his door Membrane turned and walked down the sterile corridor. Completely silent the only noise was the click from the different scientists' boots. So early in the morning, and so focused on the many products, there were no friendly hellos.

Taking an elevator down to the main floor a vehicle was already located outside. Truly none of the scientists needed to obtain ownership over their own car, the only real reason was to, for lack of a better word, show off. R.S. Laboratories was more than happy to supply, as they called it, 'company cars'.

Comfortable as they were, and how state of the art (they had surpassed the hybrid), Membrane doubted as he climbed in, that he should ever worry about buying a car. Though, she may very well want one.

The driver already knew the location; Membrane was once again able to remain silent as the plush yet sleek vehicle spread towards the 'House for the Terminally Insane', often comfortably called the 'Crazy House for Boys'…

There truly wasn't that much to think about, well besides grants, his paycheck, plans, devices, blueprints. Honestly, that was all he thought of. That was it.

That and how he was supposedly going out to dinner tonight… Ah, he wouldn't have much time to work on his blueprints would he? No, apparently not, Membrane suddenly had an urge to turn the vehicle around, and he very well would have, had he not arrived at the Crazy House for Boys at just that moment.

Throwing out the notion of turning around Membrane instead stepped with a coat flourish out of the sleek mode of transportation. With a lack of expression he viewed the home for the mentally insane.

It was dingy, not all around pleasant to stand in front of, and the bars cemented along the windows certainty didn't set him at ease. Nevertheless, gloved hands tucked themselves snuggly into large coat pockets, Membrane started up the steps before entering into the shoddy building's lobby.

The silence was eerie. That was quite a statement, coming from an employee of R.S. Laboratories, where most work went silently. Still, it wasn't as though the lobby was empty, no, people lined up in the plastic chairs, younger boys, eyes wide and staring ahead, their (assumed) parents, looking away, as though they were not there. Younger siblings looked blankly from face to face, perhaps not truly aware.

Or perhaps the only ones who truly understood.

Still- the silence was not absolute. Occasionally a chair would squeak, a few words were muttered from mouth to ear. And yet- it felt far more silent than the labs could ever be.

"And you are?"

Startled, although of course not shown, Membrane turned to look down towards one of the receptionists, a receptionist who stared coldly towards him.

"Name?"

Needless to say, the sharpest scalpel in the medical drawer was slightly bemused- honestly Membrane had grown quite customary to being known throughout his workplace.

"Membrane." A pause as she huffily began to shuffle through a clipboard, "I'm one of the-"

"R.S. employee?" She cut him off abruptly, scanning the paper, where he was apparently listed. "Why didn't you just say so?"

Before he could interject with, that was exactly what he was going to do, a new voice entered the fray.

"Professor Membrane?" A figure garbed in, of course, a lab coat asked, stopping at the receptionists shoulder and glancing over it. She held the clipboard listlessly where he could view it, with his appearance her eyes had instead begun to slide over the hushed lobby.

"Well, here at last…" Membrane stiffened, he was early, "let's get going." Turning the fellow scientist, albeit, with more experience led the way into the catacombs of the insane home. Membrane followed, now fully acknowledging that he would have been better off not coming.

The hallways were still in poor condition, yet the entire institution smelled sharply of sterilized cleaning fluid.

As one can imagine, not entirely pleasant. Still- it was relatively quiet. He couldn't help but question why, his mind could not have been playing tricks on him, as he drove by the institution on occasion and heard screams.

Crazy screams.

As though to answer his question, the other spoke up, "The patients have recently been given their medication." So they were drugged? "You're lucky." The doctor gave a quick sharp laugh.

It vanished immediately as the doctor turned and unlocked a thick door, a glass window, complete with wire imbedded in the glass labeled with thick lettering, marking the room as 'Employees Only'.

For today Membrane classified as an employee and he was ushered in. The other doctor began shuffling through his desk, looking for a schedule. Papers and filing cabinets were filled in against the walls and Membrane looked, with admitted curiosity towards them.

The other, although he had not turned around, seemed to sense that Membrane was curious. "Go ahead- take a look, we're free for a bit." This seemed to contradict his earlier rushed comment.

"…How did you know?" Membrane asked without thinking and immediately regretted doing so. As a scientist it was in his best interest to not ask questions. Especially in such a situation.

"Anyone would be curious of those filing cabinets. It's a normal reaction." The doctor still didn't turn around, instead flipping through a packet on his desk. "Go ahead, look, we're free until…" Lifting his wrist he looked at his watch before shrugging, "Whenever we're called."

Slightly bewildered at such an attitude Professor Membrane opened up a cabinet at random and withdrew a thick manila folder. Flicking through it he had to pause, multiple personality disorder, sleeping disorder, eating disorder.

He flicked through a few more pages, looking down the different diagnoses. Becoming slightly absorbed by the text he didn't notice that the doctor had turned to look towards him. Perhaps looking for a reaction.

Membrane didn't humor him, instead he placed the folder down awkwardly before looking at the other, "What is it we'll be doing?"

"We? Well I have patients to see, you- we'll see."

"So- that entitles the-"

"Most of our patients have already been treated today. No- we're looking at the home cases." Not waiting for a lack of understanding he continued, "Their guardian brings the kid here- for some reason or another, the kid doesn't actually stay here."

"Not crazy enough?" Membrane asked, not really thinking over his words for the moment.

The doctor snorted, "Perhaps, they may just not be violent enough."

Membrane couldn't think of a response, and the other seemed quite alright not adding to the glistening conversation. Awkwardly Membrane turned back towards the manila folders and the doctor turned back to his desk. They easily fell into a silence.

It was quite possible the silence would continue for the rest of Membrane's stay, did the intercom located above the two's heads not sound. An aggravated voice, which Membrane recognized from the lobby, spoke coldly from above them.

"Doctor. Patient C39 is waiting for you- room 4." Without waiting for a response the intercom clicked off and the Doctor was left shuffling his papers and fetching a manila folder from one of the filing cabinets.

Opening the door he gestured for Membrane to follow while letting the door swing shut, clicking behind them.

Again they walked through the dingy yet overly-sterilized hallways towards the lobby. However, before they could enter they swung a left, into a new hallway. The Doctor again motioned for Membrane to follow, which was unneeded. Obviously Membrane was following.

Nevertheless, the Doctor did so, and afterwards pushed into the heavy door, bringing Membrane into his first 'case'.

His first impression was the two adults in the room. Both were seated, the husband leaned forward slightly, a distasteful expression upon his face.

The wife was no better, she sat wire straight, her long fingers overlapping. She gazed upwards at an angle.

Each parent looked in opposite directions of the figure between them. A boy.

He looked roughly twelve years old, with shocks of black hair drooping over his ears. His blue eyes had flicked up towards the two scientists; his head was still slightly lowered.

Professor Membrane couldn't help but stare for a moment; though because of his heavy goggles, it probably went unnoticed. Thankfully.

…So, this was a crazy kid?

He didn't look that crazy, of course, Membrane wasn't the one holding the manila folder. Or holding anything for that matter, awkwardly he looked towards the Doctor, who, he was mildly surprised to see, hadn't changed his attitude at all.

Well- alright, perhaps it wasn't that surprising at all.

"So-" The Doctor looked down and flipped open the folder, apparently having forgotten the boy's name.

"Dwicky." It wasn't the boy who replied; instead it was his mother, who sounded oddly distant.

"Right." The doctor continued scanning the folder; then finding whatever it was he was looking for, he spoke again; however, he still did not look up towards the patient or his parents. "So- why is he here? He isn't scheduled for another two weeks."

"Wouldn't shut up all night." The father said lowly, "He isn't supposed to do that."

"Well, is he taking his medication?"

"Why wouldn't he be?" The father sounded bored but with an obvious hint of annoyance.

"Are you?" At last, Membrane noted, a question directed towards the kid, and he couldn't help turning to look at the boy.

"Uh-" The child in question licked his chapped lips, and his eyes slowly rolled from that of his parents, to the doctor, and then uncomfortably to Membrane. "Y-Yeah."

"Hm…" In all honesty, the doctor didn't sound as though he believed him. "Up the dosage- or, stronger medication." It was a statement, not a question. The parents seemed ready to take whatever was handed to them, what it was didn't matter.

The doctor seemed ready to fill out a prescription, before apparently remembering something vital. "Ah- So what was the 'attack'?"

"Aliens." The father grunted, "What else?"

Membrane had to keep himself from snorting, aliens? Made sense actually, all those 'para-scientists' must be insane. They were all probably graduates of the Crazy House.

Something must have betrayed him however, for he uncomfortably found the kid looking up blankly at him… Membrane had never been good with kids, as an only child he had never really come in- contact with them?

He really should have stayed at the lab and worked on those plans…

"We'll write up a prescription then." The doctor said scribbling something pointless on the folder, normal 'doctor scrawl'. "Come with me."

The two adults stood, though the kid remained. Apparently this was a normal pattern, part of the schedule, no one raised an objection.

Membrane turned to follow, before the doctor noticed.

"Eh? You can stay here kid."

Membrane was about to comment that the kid didn't look as though he was planning on following, until he realized the doctor was referring to him. He was a certified scientist- no, super scientist- and he was being referred to… as a kid?

Graduated first in his class- a kid?

'The sharpest scalpel on the medical table'- or whatever nonsense- a kid?

Before Membrane could raise any objection, though he was quite unsure what the objection would be, the heavy door swung shut, and Membrane was left alone with the (actual) kid.

Awkwardly Membrane found himself staring at the door, not really wanting to turn around. Children… He'd like to spend the rest of his day staring at that door. Or perhaps, a wall?

A nice, white, sterilized wall. Dripping with cleansing fluid, maybe his eyes would even start watering? Perhaps not, he was wearing heavy goggles. Actually- they probably would, the fluid would irritate his nose and before long, his eyes would begin to water.

Was that what it was like to be crazy? To be in the Crazy House? Sterilized walls, the sharp smell of cleansing fluid, the-

"So- You're a scientist?"

He had tried to ignore the child, hadn't he noticed? Awkwardly Membrane turned around to view the boy. Unsure how to respond to 'children', all Membrane could come up with was a meager, "…Yes?" And you're insane? Membrane had to stop himself from snapping at the child. What? He'd never taken 'preschool-lab' during high school, he had taken Advanced Chemistry coupled with Advanced Calculus.

"That's cool." Idly the kid swung his legs, and Membrane was curious to see that the boy looked quite different than he had a few minutes ago within the presence of his 'parental figures'.

His eyes looked larger, peering up at Membrane's goggled pair, and he appeared just a bit livelier.

It was also quite unnerving.

"So- who ARE you?" The boy asked, fidgeting in the chair. "I don't recognize you, you know, from this place."

This place? "No." Membrane stopped there, and feeling unnerved as the kid's eyes didn't leave him found himself continuing. "I'm employed at R.S. Laboratories."

Dwicky let out a low whistle, "Wow- well that makes sense, you actually looked at me." He nodded, but a quick "I think" was thrown in at the end, in reference to Membrane's goggles.

Before Membrane could really think over the doctors employed at The Crazy House For Boys, Dwicky was already speaking again. "Well, I like science." Wow, amazing, Membrane dearly wished he was elsewhere, and not in the room with the dubbed 'insane child'. "Yup, I'm one of the highest in my class actually." he seemed so proud. What was he learning? H2O equals water? Wow.

"But what I really like is space. OUTER space." Membrane cringed, though he doubted the kid noticed. He could already see where this was going.

"So, you believe in aliens?" Membrane asked idly, Dwicky was going to go there anyway, may as well get it over with.

"Aliens?" Dwicky looked curiously towards the older man, and immediately his face cracked into an unnerving smile, "YUP! I mean, isn't it OBVIOUS! Don't you believe in outer space? What do you think about the government, they're probably hiding all the UFO remains, don't you think? They probably are; I mean looks at Roswell! AREA 51!"

"Yes I believe in 'outer space'." Membrane said dully, this was why he didn't speak to children, pointless drabble. What kind of question was that? Not a question at all. "Roswell? That was a weather balloon."

The silence which followed this statement was deafening.

"That's what they all say."

"Who?" Membrane asked, exasperated.

"You!"

Another extended moment of absolutely deafening silence.

Dwicky glared at him, and Membrane stared back through the tint of his goggles. Both seemed prepared to put this 'argument' to rest with silence, but Membrane just couldn't let it end like this.

Honestly, he was surprised with himself. He should have let it die.

"Everything in the scientific community," He began, "is cemented with one thing, fact. Do you have any proof? Fact?"

"I do!" Dwicky shouted defensively. "I-" His argument, however, sunk quickly. "I just don't remember it…" He ended barely above a whisper.

"You don't remember?" Membrane couldn't help but ask incredulously, the idea seemed insane. Which was probably more than true.

"N-no!" Dwicky pursed his lips and grasped the sides of his chairs, "B-but that whole year is fuzzy! It doesn't mean it didn't happen!"

At that, the whole 'proof' discussion was dropped by Membrane, who instead stared blankly, "The entire year?"

"Huh?" Dwicky blinked, staring blankly in turn at the older man. "Oh yeah…" He began uncomfortably, "Mom and Dad, or, the doctors really, put me on some new pills that year. I can't really remember it too well." He ended with nothing more than a shrug.

Membrane meanwhile was more shocked than anything. So many high expectations for the anything but humble medical sciences, and a twelve year old couldn't remember a year of his life?

"It's just fuzzy though," Dwicky said, and shrugged again, "What I do know is that something happened, that's my proof."

"That's not proof." Membrane muttered; the 'proof' was likely nothing more than a drug induced dream. A hallucination. Pure and utter insanity.

"Yes it is!" Membrane smiled smugly, it was obvious who had bested who, though the smug expression wasn't visible thanks to his high collared lab coat. It took him a moment to realize he had bested an overzealous and doubtlessly insane child.

Children- no wonder he didn't often converse with them?

Before either one of them could respond to the other, the door opened and the doctor could be found peering in.

Again, following the habit, the schedule, one which Membrane didn't know, Dwicky hopped off his chair and slouched through the door to meet up with his parents. Parents, who Membrane could see as he exited, already held a glass of water and a new set of pills.

Casting a quick glance Membrane's way Dwicky drowned the pills, before trudging after his 'parental figures'.

"Come on." The doctor motioned towards Membrane, as they headed back towards his office. "Hope the kid didn't scare you too bad." He seemed mildly curious over what had traversed within the confines of the exam room; nonetheless, he didn't ask.

Needless to say, not much else that occurred within the Crazy House for Boys that day could top the squabble over the existence of aliens he'd had while bickering with an adolescent.

Actually, not much else occurred at all, instead, much of the day was spent filing and flipping through manila folders. Interesting in its own right Membrane found himself quite at ease. He'd been doing paperwork for years.

Still, Membrane found he had not accomplished much at all. Multiple times he found himself wishing he had stayed at the lab, and worked on those blue prints of his, and it was much later than he had expected that he was finally released, free to descend the steps to the sleek R.S. Laboratory car which was already pulling up.

Finally.

Slipping into the car he relaxed against the plush seats. It went without saying that today had been, for lack of a better word, unbearable. He could finally get back to the lab, work on those plans… dinner.

Dinner.

He had forgotten. Clicking a few buttons on his wrist-computer he was loathe to find that yes, he was meeting her for dinner tonight. Well that took out the possibility of getting back to the lab.

Still- he had time to kill. Time to place under the microscope and carefully dissect. Sadly he found no interesting specimens.

Instead, Membrane decided he may as well stop home. Maybe water the plants that were not yet hooked up the extended network of pipes which snaked throughout his home. These would release mist on command to keep the plants in a moist and perfect environment.

Were there any plants that weren't hooked up? Membrane wasn't sure. Honestly there didn't appear to be anything to fill in the unbearable unit of time between now and dinner.

This 'Crazy House' experience had really found a way to tangle his schedule.

Perhaps the young professor would have returned home, only to sit down and idly put his mind to the task of mentally working on his plans. Or perhaps he would have had the driver cruise the car around the park a couple of times. Until he could remember each toddler playing in the sandbox, every shoe, every bow, every stroller.

Perhaps, had his cell phone not decided to ring at just that moment.

It was his cell phone, not his watch. His cell phone was a relatively useless thing, a personal line. Only she had its number.

Reaching into his pocket he flicked out the small device and checked the front for the number, a pointless gesture, as only she had the number.

Only, he was shocked to find that it wasn't her number. And that instead of a call there was instead a message within his inbox. It wasn't her number, but instead it was her's. A number he had never expected to find within the confines of his cell phone ever again.

The number he himself recalled canceling. The number of the woman who had made him a widower.

Quickly his gloved hand flipped open the cell phone and his fingers darted, bring up the message. Unsure of what he was expecting, he was met with numbers, an address.

He recognized that address.

It was his bank. Their bank.

What did it mean? Was it not he who had stroked her skin gently, fingers pressing gently against her wrist, searching for a fleeting pulse, only to find it absent? Absent from her wrist, from her heart, from her neck. All life, absent.

Was it not he who had stroked the soft skin within the casket, and not he who had watched said casket be lowered down within the depths of the ground?

Calmly he leaned forward, and directed the driver to the address of his bank. Honestly he was surprised at the calmness with which he approached the situation. With a normal and calm expression his eyes flicked back down to the phone's screen. Searching for anything- anything within the message.

He did find one thing. The message was dated two years ago. Two years, four months, and six days. Yes, he knew, the day before his wife had died. The day before he had stroked soft skin gently, searching for a pulse, and finding none.

This solidified one thing, she really was dead. But he had never doubted, it was he at the head of the funeral precession, was it not?

So, the message was prewritten, for a certain date. Today? At this hour, at this minute? This second?

The R.S. Laboratory car came to a stop outside the marble bank. At times Membrane may find himself examining the distinguished carvings; when he possessed a few moments to spare he may use them to simply take in simple beauties.

Not now, hardly ever, but not now. With a hurried gait, yet nonetheless calm, he arrived at the front desk. Another look at the numbers within the message answered another question; he was looking to open a security box.

Explaining his predicament to the woman at the front desk was relatively easy; and yet relatively difficult. After explaining his… connection with one who originally opened the security box, and then after the secretary had gone through quite a multitude of old folders, he was finally granted a key.

"Follow me." The secretary turned, and still snapping her gum, motioned for Membrane to follow, which he did, somewhat hurried. It was becoming hard to contain himself.

She passed through a few locks and finally left Membrane within a room, just he and his key. With her absence Membrane readily began examining the walls, searching for her unit.

Unsure where to look he examined the largest units to the smallest units, finally finding her number within the thin units. Stacked over and over they filled the wall roughly looking 12 inches wide.

Barely able to contain himself by now, his hands shook as he struggled to slide the key within the lock. Turning it- anticipation mounted he slid it open to find-

Papers.

What- had he come all this way, with all of this anticipation to find- tax papers?

His hands shook less now, as he gained slight control over them, and pulled the folders and papers out of the niche.

Taking a seat in a chair which was located close by, he pulled open the first folder. What was he going to find? Two year old taxes?

His eyes ran down the sleek paper, but they didn't have to roam far before his jaw slackened behind the coat collar.

For a moment he couldn't give any response, but as that moment came to an end a wide smile erupted across his hidden mouth, his breath quickened as he read.

It was all here. Everything. He could forget those scribbled blue-prints in the lab. He could throw them to the next scientist at his feet, those who were ready to grab and foam at the next 'idea'.

He didn't need them- not with this. Everything was spelled out, every mystery revealed. The life-support systems and cloning exercises came together as one, the 'normal scientist things' became unusual.

With this, with Professor Z's years of research, Membrane could smell it, sense it, feel it; he was headed towards the top.

-

And there ends Concept. For those of you who read it- I hope you enjoyed it. I actually had the idea to write something of this fashion back in March- it is now May, took me long enough, eh? There is a possibility of a longer, more extended story stemming from Concept, however, when, I'm not sure. Is it definite? No, however, I would like to see it happen. So, if the possibility does occur, consider this a Prologue.


End file.
